


Alley Cat

by hellbend



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Nonbinary Character, POV First Person, Post-War, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbend/pseuds/hellbend
Summary: Chasing a 16-year-old murder case that got you wrongly convicted as a child, while playing the role of a political peace symbol in an enemy kingdom, is nothing short of terrifying but I don't really have an option because my head is on the guillotine whether I make it work or not. I may as well get some answers. The only problem is, being dragged into practically babysitting these 7 grown demons makes the prospect of betraying them for my own benefit in the future all the more difficult. Let's see how it plays out,  though I'm not certain I'll get out alive.
Relationships: Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin:
> 
> \- My character's pronouns are they/them. Please do not misgender them when referring to them in your reviews or comments.  
> \- Please play close attention to the warnings in the tags, which may be subject to change as the story continues. Reader discretion is advised.  
> \- Comments and feedback are always welcome! I don't bite. Please let me know what you think.  
> \- Ignore the typos, I'm a lousy editor when I'm excited to post.

**JULES**

Tonight, the sky is on fire. Great hot streaks soaring across the cold black canvas of midnight and crashing into the horizon, where they send up their sparks like celestial fireworks. I’m watching from the front yard of the castle, and in my mind I’ve clung onto the tails of those stars and they have taken me under the horizon with them. That figurative edge of the sky and the world, where I’ll simply fall off and plunge into an oblivion that no one is sure even exists. 

The sound from the castle foyer, where the guests are gathered for the evening, is reduced to white noise by the time it reaches me. The world is as muted as it can get in my head, but the pounding of my heart is deafening. It beats like a war drum, and the blood is pumping in my veins like fire. Tension pulses through my muscles, sometimes so violently I feel tremors through my body that raise goosebumps on my skin. 

I pull my jacket on tighter, hugging my knees closer to my binded chest. The night is still cold even with the fire-streaked sky. I can see the smoke from the falling stars curling like wisps and blocking out the stars, like foggy snakes swallowing up moonstones. 

“You’re missing the party.” 

His voice is familiar and cuts through the muted sounds of the world around me, crisply and clearly. I can smell the aloe wine on him when he sits down next to me, pressing his side against mine as he nudges me with his shoulder. Ignoring him is not an option. He has a loud presence, a naturally gentle prying look in his eyes that picks at your conscience against your will. He’s magnetised just for attention. 

“It’s not much of a party as much as a truce in the middle of a war,” I tell him, bitterness creeping into my voice. He’s broken my little bubble of vacuum, and the noise from outside is flooding in. 

I can still hear the residual conversations from the meeting in the evening, the scratching of pens on parchment paper, the gritting of teeth as two leaders embraced in a room full of watchful eyes, and then the entire hall collectively heaving a sigh of relief after. The party music is loud but not as loud as the fear that has managed to creep in between the good-natured laughs of the guests, and the watered down scrutiny of the press that have now dissolved into the party crowd. 

“You never told me the faie kingdom was this pretty,” Solomon says, leaning back on both his hands. Like a child, he knocks his feet against each other in thought. “I would have come here for the holidays and internships instead of dragging myself down to Devildom last year.” 

I wince at the mention of it. “Queendom,” I corrected him. “Our leaders are always women.” 

“Right, sorry. I forgot you all eat the stupid men for lunch.” 

“That’s not how - Nevermind.” Trying to have a serious conversation with him when he’s drunk is not advisable. 

“It’s kind of dark and depressing,” He says, a thoughtful tone and the wine watering down his usually silky voice into a slurring kindergartner’s voice. “But you’ll learn to survive, eventually. Not an ideal holiday destination, but there are some nice people. It’s kind of nice when you ignore being almost eaten or jumped by demons.” 

“Why’d you agree to go on that stupid exchange programme then?” I huff. “You went along with it, so you can’t complain.” 

“I thought it’d be fun.” 

“You could have been eaten.” 

A pause, and then he is throwing himself at me, laughing giddily. He drives his knuckles into the top of my head, still laughing like I just said the funniest joke ever. The surprise on my face morphing into a scowl just makes him giggle even more like a delirious schoolgirl. “Aw, you were _worried_ about me!” He ruffles my hair, ripping it out from its pins and leaving it a bird’s nest on my head. 

“No, I wasn’t.” I push him off so I can feel around my head for the pins. I unclip them and set on fixing the mess he’s made of my hair. “You just have a lot of lunch money to owe me from the time I treated you to food at Mac’s and Nando’s. Also, you’re Her Majesty’s favourite human and she would hold me accountable if anything happened to you.” 

“I’m _everyone’s_ favourite human.”

“Yeah, so if anything happened to you, I’d - “

“ Die? Cry “It should have been me”? Beg the heavens to take you instead?” 

“ - be in trouble!” I finished, frowning at him. “Sometimes, not everything is about you.” 

“But you agree that other times, it is?”

I side-eye him, hoping my knotted eyebrows and thin-lipped pout would be enough to convey my exasperation but he wasn’t even looking at me. The weight of his head is on my shoulder, his face turned to the sky. The sky is empty now, all the comets having plummeted into the horizon. There is no evidence of their existence except the faint steaming scars and rips their hot tails burned into the night. 

“Jules, am I _your_ favourite human too?” 

I squeeze my eyes shut, even though I know he can't see the expression on my face. Him getting tipsy also means him getting sentimental and my psyche cannot handle emotions other than irritation or complete indifference. 

6 basic emotions and yet I can only feel one of them in 60 different degrees. 

“That’s not a fair question,” I respond. “You know, because I’m a human too.”

“Yeah, but only _half_ of you is.” He shifts his weight closer and yawns, big and wide. “That’s why you’re so short compared to the other faie.” To illustrate his point, he places his palm on the top of my head and playfully pushes my head down. “They’re all like a foot or two taller than you and here you are... at a modest five feet.” 

I grit my teeth. “Don’t remind me.” 

Another long pause, and we sunk into comfortable silence. Solomon’s breathing was slow and relaxed, his side pushing against me whenever the air filled his lungs. This was a familiar situation. All you needed was a torrent of rain, a crusty sidewalk and a puddle at our feet, and then it’d be perceived as a cinematic parallel from 10 years ago. 10 years that felt so long in the real world but so painfully short between us. 

Two 11-year-olds, stained feet in a muddy puddle, pressed together as the biting cold settled over the city like a thick blanket, locking out the residual summer heat for good as the country charged into the fall season with full enthusiasm. We fought the cold, and the storm that coming season, the same way we had persistently fought the world the entirety of our childhood. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” 

“About what?” I know exactly what he is going to talk about. I just leave a little room for doubt. Maybe he will ask me about the latest shopping deals and house loans. Anything but - 

“The treaty,” He says. He doesn’t give me that incredulous and tired look anyone else would give me if they were in his place. He knows I’m trying to avoid this topic. 

“There’s nothing I can do,” I tell him, truthfully. “I can’t refuse an order, especially at this time. I have to go.” 

Tensions between Faie and Devildom have been really high - and that is an understatement. We would have gone to war, a week back if Lord Diavolo hadn’t stepped up and forced a compromise… and a way to move forward, peacefully. The origins of the argument between the two leaders is still unknown to me, as it is to everyone except the court advisors. 

I think this is outrageously unfair, considering how they’re _so_ excited to put my life on the line for this. I want to know exactly what happened that was bad enough to put the faie and demon kingdoms at such terrible odds. 

“I wonder who Lord Diavolo will send,” Solomon muses, through a yawn. “This reminds me so much of my exchange programme, it’s kind of - “

“Yeah,” I interrupt, feeling a sour taste enter my mouth. “Except I’m going more as a pawn, than as a student.” The thought makes me feel ill, and turns the colours in my vision pale and misty. The ground is beginning to feel like it’s liquid and moving under my feet. 

“Not a pawn,” Solomon corrects me. I feel the tension take root even deeper in my muscles, turning my whole body into a temple of nervous and frightened energy. I can decipher the tone in his voice very well from the way it falls towards the end of the sentence, plunging into this chasm where it’s swallowed by his approaching thoughts. 

“You’re the queen - “

I growl in warning. Gendered terms make me incredibly uncomfortable and I know Solomon means no harm but there’s a certain care you have to exercise when you’re using them, especially with me. 

“No, wait, let me explain,” He says, backtracking. “I’m using chess terms. You’re a pawn piece for the faie but in Devildom, you’ll have the same amount of power as the queen piece. Anything and everything that you do will have some form of implication, more so there than here. You could either start a war or prevent it. You could give hope for peace. You can do a _lot_.” 

He takes me by the chin and turns me till I am forced to make eye contact with him. “You’ll be the _game changer_ , Jules.” 

His words sink in, and their weight is crushing. My eyes water, my face becomes damp and I taste salt... all in the matter of four seconds. His finger presses against my temple gently, his shielded gaze melting until there is genuine concern in his eyes and kindness in his voice. “You’re the right - no, you’re the _only_ person for this job. You’ll be fine.”

“I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to lie to each other,” I say, my voice thick through the lump in my throat. 

Heels clicking on the floor behind us forces our conversation to a halt. 

We both shoot up to our feet and bow as the queen walks through the doorway and to us, a careless and jovial smile on her face. A warm red blush has grown over her nose and cheeks, smoothening her usually sharp regal features until the edges have become soft gentle curves. 

“Solomon, dear, you’ve kept Jules to yourself for enough time now. I’d like to talk to them for a while, if you don’t mind?” Merci tilts her head. The wisps of cobalt blue hair that are already coming loose from their clips fell against her face. 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Solomon scrambles to pick up his wine glass from the stairs, and gathers his robes. He shoots me one last look over his shoulder and then goes back inside. 

He takes the warmth with him.

“Sit down,” Merci says, more of an order than an invitation. I oblige, placing myself down next to her stiffly and warily. She gathered her skirt and got comfortable. “Jules, do you know why you’re doing this?”

“Because… we don’t want to go to war with Devildom?” I repeat what she said during her address at the start of the event this evening.

There’s a scheming pause, and her eyes glint wickedly. When she smiles, I can see it. 

As a child, I knew the faie as fairies. They’re not as pleasant as the fairy tales claim they are. Faie are half-breeds of demons and angels - an entire race whose children are born from two opposite energies. They’re enchanting and generous but also conniving and menacing. I can sense the latter in the way her entire image flickers, and her incisors sharpened to a point when she smiles. 

“I have a job for you, Jules. You’re the _only_ person for this.”

* * *

  
  
**MAMMON**

“Mammon, _stop_ that!” My brother hisses at me under his breath.

Asmodeus pinches my hand once, disgust evident on his face, but I leave him in my periphery. I run the penknife through the groove in my boot, flicking aside the clumps of mud that come loose with my finger. There’s mud all over the table in front of me where my feet are on the table and crossed at the ankles. I’ve earned abundant glares from my brothers, but after centuries of taking their shit, my skin’s thick enough for me to coexist with their contemptuous treatment of me. 

The atmosphere in the council room is grim. Even I don’t have enough battery in me to make a stupid joke to stir up conversation or bring up the energy. Everyone is disjointed from the next person, like invisible walls have come down between us and every face has the same worry etched into its lines. It’s been a while since we all shared common ground, because all of us are so greatly different, there has always been this distinction. 

Granted, the Devildom is on the verge of locking horns with Faie. Not everyone feels the same about this, but we all have the same memory from the Great Celestial War that stirs up more or less the same feelings within us. 

“The question is,” Lucifer finally speaks. “Who do we volunteer to send over?” His voice is dripping with exhaustion, what with him having been awake three consecutive nights helping Diavolo prepare to convene with the queen of the fair folk. This whole situation has hit him harder than it has the rest of us, and war doesn’t grant anyone an ounce of mercy. 

“I volunteer Satan,” Asmo says, raising his hand. He moves with a pointed and formal sort of grace during council meetings. There’s a murmur of agreement around the table, and I join in with an affirming hum.

Satan would be a good choice - he’s calculative and (mostly) diplomatic. If he loses his temper at least, he’d be able to wipe out the entire faie race and save us the trouble of going to war. 

“No,” Lucifer refuses, almost immediately. “Not Satan.” 

“Why?” Satan’s tone is cutting, as it always is when he talks to Lucifer. “You’re scared I’ll screw it up for you?” The scary part is his disdain only shows in the knot of his eyebrows and gentle scowl, even though I know in his head he is furiously planning out every violent scenario that includes but is not limited to strangling Lucifer. 

“Not that.” Lucifer doesn’t return any of those feelings. His voice is deep, and sinks in with an air of conclusion. What he says, usually goes. “Satan is our best strategist. If there’s a chance we have to go to war, it’d be best to have him here with the war council.” 

Satan blinks, and a pleased smirk takes over his face. The bastard.

“If your plan is to keep the best council members with us in the event of a war, then I’d suggest we send _Mammon_ over,” Levi says. 

_“Oi!”_ I slam my hand down on the table. “Watch what you say!” Levi, like the child he is, sticks his tongue out at me. 

“Mammon is too easy - “ Asmo starts, and I feel the anger flare up in me. 

There they go, dragging me through the mud again, acting like they’re on any sort of moral ground above me. They seem to constantly forget that each of us is the avatar of our respective sin. They’re no better than I am, because they each indulge themselves as much as I do. The double standards are evident in the way they punish _me_ for it, but condone their own indulgence.

I’m _sick_ of this family. 

One day, I will simply pick up that bag I packed and left under the floorboards of my room and walk out of the house. I don’t know why I put up with them anymore. 

I shoot up in my seat, slam both hands down on the table. The rest of them either flinch or jump, but I know I’ve got their attention. I don’t usually get angry like this, but it’s been a really tense period, I’ve been having bad flashbacks and the whole situation has induced enough nightmarish memories from my first war. I’m not taking any more of this nonsense. 

“If you want to send me over, then fine,” I said, “Do whatever you want. I’ve had enough of your double standards, anyway. If you’re going to punish me for my self-indulgence, I hope you’ve got a plan to atone for each of yours too.” 

“Calm down,” Lucifer says, inducing an even stronger variant of irritation in me. “We’re not sending you over.” 

“You know, you can just say it,” Belphie mumbles. His head is on the table, his arms folded around so that when he speaks, he does so into his elbow. He has that lazy look in his eyes as usual, his eyes a deep but subdued shade of violet. “You want to send me over, don’t you?” 

Silence. A deeply uncomfortable one - the kind that made the air stick to your skin like cling wrap. 

Belphie sighs, and with what looked like great effort, pushed himself up to sitting position. “I don’t mind, actually. The faie kingdom is said to be beautiful and rich, and I want to see it for myself.” He yawns characteristically. “It’s also a place of really powerful magic.” 

“This isn’t a field trip,” Satan cuts in, folding his arms. His eyes flash. “You can’t give them a reason to distrust us any further.” 

“I’m not that stupid. Plus, you’re just jealous that I get to go,” Belphie responds, without missing a second. 

I sink further down into my chair, as Satan audibly grits his teeth. “What kind of person do you take me for, exactly? To get worked up over petulant things like that at a time like this?”

“Whoa,” I interrupt, framing it with my hands as I fan them in each brother’s direction. “Satan, please don’t use big words. Belphie, we haven’t even confirmed you’re the one to be going. Also, I don’t think it’s very cool of us to have escaped a war with the faie and to be fighting over stuff like this.” 

Asmo sighs, a frown taking over his features. “Lucifer, when will Lord Diavolo return from his visit to the Faie kingdom?” 

“By this evening,” Lucifer replies. “We’ll probably know how it went by then. If the treaty passes, then the exchange will be tomorrow morning.” He sits himself down in his chair at the head of the table with a sigh, and takes his gloves off. His hands are still scarred the same, sometimes bleeding but today they just look pale-jointed, inflamed and pathetic. He rests his chin on one, elbow propped up on the armrest.

“Yeah, just a few more hours,” Levi says. “Then, it’ll be fine.”

Satan’s eyebrows knot in speculation. “Not quite. I don’t think we’ll be in the clear until an actual alliance is passed. This treaty is just to alleviate the tension for now. It’ll take a few years at least until full cooperation can be achieved. Especially since the citizens of respective kingdoms won’t unanimously endorse this move.” 

“That’s a lot of syllables,” Levi mutters. “Do I have to remind you that Mammon can’t take any more than two at a time?” This remark is flanked by Asmo giggling. 

I suppress a growl. 

“It’s a start,” Lucifer concludes, “More progress than we’ve made than the past few decades at least.”

Beel, who had been silent all this time, finally licked the last of the glaze from his fingers and spoke. “Can I go to see Belphie off?” 

A harmless question, laced with distrust. I steal a glance at Lucifer, feeling my throat dry up with the anxiety. Beel is a nice guy, and he doesn’t hold grudges. He’s not the type to endorse conflict. He mostly just keeps to himself. But… he is someone of principle and he cherishes Belphie a lot. After Lucifer’s blunder a year back, Beel still doesn’t trust him completely. 

The question reveals that much: Beel wants to make sure Belphie reaches the Faie kingdom safely. 

I don’t blame him. Maybe this rip in their relationship only worsened by Lucifer’s chauvinistic attitude and ego. I can’t be sure and I can’t care less than I already do. 

“Very well,” Lucifer agrees, “You can.” After a moment, “Belphie, you have to be packed by tonight.”

“Geez,” Belphie sighs, forehead wrinkling in irritation over his half-lidded eyes. 

“So, I guess that concludes our last meeting as the war council.” Lucifer pulls his gloves back on, wincing in pain as he does so. “It’s back to student council duties starting next week.” He says this, but there’s dread weighing down his voice. 

I can’t help but feel sorry for him. In between student council, and being Diavolo’s right hand man, he doesn’t get a break. There’s always been a default tone of irritation whenever he spoke or in the manner he did things. He glosses it over with his chauvinism and sense of duty, but I know it’s terrible for him. More so than it is for us.

There’s no one other than Lucifer whom I’d trust to handle the weight of all that responsibility. 

I want to help him, badly, as the second-born. But he doesn’t trust me. None of them do. It’s not their fault, and I also do not want to waste time trying to prove myself to them. When they desperately need it, they’ll come to me for help. 

I know that sounds conceited at first, but when it comes down to it, I will carry the weight well. 

Lilith was a crushing loss. I don’t have the strength in me to bear losing any of them now. 

There’s scraping of chairs as the others get up and stretch, loud relieved sighs escaping their mouths. Immediately, the air isn’t so heavy anymore and there’s a hint of a smile on each of their faces. 

The worst is over. 

We have a week long break where we’re exempted from council activities. We can stay home and take a break to collect ourselves before coming back and resuming the activities. 

The rest file out of the room, the murmur of conversation leaving and plunging the room into a deafening silence. It’s the more peaceful kind. Makes me want to cry out of relief. 

I stop by the door, noticing that Lucifer still hasn’t moved, and look over my shoulder at him. 

He’s still sitting on the chair, but slouched over this time, hands clasped together on the table and gaze focused on nothing in particular at the centre of the table. I wonder if his hands hurt when he clenches them like that. 

With great effort, stamping down on my dignity and clenching my fists in my pockets, I turn around fully to face him. “Oi, ya need anything?”

No answer. 

“Fine, whatever. Sorry I asked,” I reply, turning on my heels and making sure to slam the door loudly behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I tried not to make the first chapter too dry? I hope that worked. I'm not planning on making it this intense throughout the story, and there will be some nice lighthearted moments... just not as many as the angst-filled ones.  
> \- I mostly started this because I thought it would be a way for me to explore the boys' personalities beyond the two character traits the game reduces them to. I'll do my best to do it in a way that adds to their development without taking away their distinctive qualities and characteristics. I have to apologise beforehand if my perception of them doesn't align with yours. I'm actually always open to hearing about what my readers have to say about it.  
> \- I hope this story is as fun to read as it is to write.  
> \- You can contact me on twitter: noyabf.  
> \- This is also gift for my friend, Kero. Hope fey like it hehe


	2. Trove of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than intended (5.6k words) but it was fun to write. Definitely not as tense as the one before, so it should hopefully be a fun read.

**SOLOMON**

Devildom is a stark contrast to the faie queendom. The whiplash is like a thunderclap inside my skull, and makes the ground slide out from under me like a treadmill. The faie lands are misty with its glittering waterfalls and pink fountains and the abundance of melancholy weeping willows that were equal parts tragic and beautiful. Devildom is the opposite - dark, with sickly coloured street lights that keep the darkness at bay, the faint smell of poison clinging to everything in cities built purely of obsidian. 

I find my footing, sneakers squeaking on the obsidian stones embedded into the sidewalk as I catch up with Jules, who is taking this change of landscape better than I am. They are earning a few stares, what with the way they’re taking their own sweet time drinking in the sight around them with a pair of shielded and indifferent eyes. But I know that look on their face too well. I can see the gears in their head turning. 

They’ve already finished their lollipop but they’re still chewing on the stick thoughtfully as they stop by a store that has dozens of different daggers on its glass showcase. 

“Those are ceremonial daggers,” I tell them. “Not made for fighting. Usually just for sacrifices during a ritual.” 

“None of these look anything like the one you use though,” Jules says, glancing at me from the side of their eyes. They smack their chapped lips once, straightening up and turning to me. “What would happen if, hypothetically, I used a ceremonial dagger for murder?” I swallow nervously, involuntarily taking a step back at the determined flash in their eyes. I can’t tell if they’re joking but chances are they are being serious. 

Then, at the last moment, they smirk. “Messing with you, dude. You’re so gullible.” Which does nothing to reassure me. 

I usually just choose to ignore the way they eye my dagger whenever it’s in their line of sight. It’s got a wicked blade carved from bone and a worn out leather handle. It was used by my mother before me and her mother before her and so on. As good as a family heirloom, its blade carries the memories of a thousand different spells and rituals. 

I’ve learnt to draw those memories out one by one to learn my spells… and sometimes, even as a means of learning about my family before the tragic winter turned my world on its axis and sent me hurtling into a completely different reality - a reality that was cold, damp, musty and merciless. But that reality also had Jules. In a completely different terrain with different rules, the world granted me a means of surviving in the form of an ally and then, as a friend. 

I don’t tell them about my use of the dagger to indulge my escapism or fixate on my trauma. It’s not something I can control, and I’m ashamed of it myself. I don’t want to burden Jules with it. They have enough going on. 

After the private chat with Merci during the party, they came to me with their usual warm and rich shade of brown skin fading into a sickly looking shade of milk tea as fear manifested in that characteristic paling and cracking of already very dry lips. I don’t know what the queen had asked of them, and they didn’t share, so I didn’t press them for any details. 

“To be honest,” Jules said, tucking their thumbs into their pockets and casting a lazy glance around to take in the town square. “It’s not as dark and depressing as you said it would be.” 

“Yeah, it’ll be once you start classes.” 

“ _ Gross _ .” 

“It won’t be so bad,” I assure them, sliding an arm over their shoulders. “Because you’ll have  _ me _ .” I punctuate the sentence with a grin directed at my friend, who deliberately looks away and pretends to display keen interest in the bakery across the street. The corner of their lips goes softer though, and I know that’s the closest to a smile I will earn from them. 

They’re at the perfect height where I can conveniently use their shoulders as an armrest. If this bothers them, they don’t show it but shift closer until their hand can come to rest on my opposite shoulder. 

“I have to ask,” Jules starts slowly, and like a reflex, paranoia floods my chest and makes my heart kick violently. “Why’d you come down with me here, anyway?” They’re looking up at me through their dark fringe, their dusky brown eyes catching the light of the streetlamp and burning a bright angry shade of amber. The colours stir like lava, shifting along with their emotions, like a kaleidoscope. This evening, it’s a more gentle subdued shade of orange. 

The question has me stunted, actually. I turn the question over in my head but there’s no smart reply waiting at the back of my throat. 

Luckily (or unluckily), I’m saved from answering when I hear a very familiar voice screaming my name from across the street. 

Jules jumps in my embrace and jerks away to turn in the direction of the sound. I suppress an embarrassed grimace and throw a look over my shoulder. 

There, charging down the street with his heels clicking on the obsidian loud enough to alert anyone within a 15 metre radius of his arrival, is Asmodeus. 

His expression betrays every ounce of his elation, a jovial pink blush spread across his nose bridge and cheek, touching his ears in a way that it blends in with his bubblegum pink fringe. He’s wrapped in every shade of the sunset - romantic shades of pink for his cardigan and jeans, hot shades of orange for his turtleneck and belt, and passionate reds for his scarf and bracelets. 

He knocks into me with the force of a tank, throwing his arms around my neck and burying me into his embrace. The scent of perfume and plums is overwhelming and I can taste it in my mouth. Over his scarf on the shoulder, I can see Jules taking in the scene with amusement written clearly over their face in the way they bite their lollipop stick and give me a fervent thumbs up. 

The embarrassment is aggravated by Asmo pulling away and placing a sloppy kiss on each of my cheeks. Heat bursts under the skin of my cheeks, so violent and unyielding that stars enter the corner of my vision until I’m seeing nothing but constellations and the twenty different pinks and oranges that seem to be Asmo’s default colour scheme for casual wear. 

Then, he starts fussing, picking at my poorly conditioned hair and taking my hands to thumb my worn down fingernails. “You’re in  _ terrible  _ shape!” He cries, his usually tranquil and flirtatious expression freezing and sinking into a frenzied and distraught one as he takes my face in his hands and gives me a once over. His scrutiny, with that sultry undertone that’s permanently fixed in his gaze, cuts into me with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. It’s either the warmth of his hands seeping into the skin of my face or the blood rushing to my face in a mad mix of emotions. 

I feel a sense of betrayal, that despite being so deeply rooted in my denial, I’m  _ more  _ than just a little happy to see Asmo again after one painful year without his companionship. 

He’s an attention magnet and proudly so. Sometimes, insufferable. Largely unreliable. But he has his moments. I think it’s because he’s set the bar so low most of the times that when he does come through I mistake my relief for gratitude but he’s a demon and I shouldn’t expect any better. Nevertheless, I’m still thankful for him. Our story started at the moment I formed a pact with him, but we ended as friends. On good terms.

Here we are again. 

Asmo finally (thankfully) diverts his attention to Jules.

They have pulled out their little shiny pin with “THEY/THEM” in fashionable gold lettering clipped on their jacket just as they do when they meet someone new. 

They reach out their hand for a shake but Asmo hugs them too, not with as much fervour as he did me but enough for me to hear a bone or two crack in Jules. An expression of pain flashes across their face when their eyebrows knot and lips twist into a pout, but they grit their teeth and attempt a friendly smile, though it comes out looking like a grimace. 

“H...Hi?” It comes out as a breathless question.

“Asmo, you’re crushing them,” I say, grabbing the demon by the shoulder and managing to peel him off Jules. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Asmo flicks his fringe away with his finger as he gently tips Jules’ head upwards with his free hand. There’s a moment’s pause that feels charged and even through the earthen brown shade of Jules’ skin, a blush starts to identify itself, spreading from freckle to freckle on their nose and cheeks like a haphazard connect-the-dots game. “You are just too cute!” Asmo gushes. “And that body is to  _ die  _ for, by the way!”

“Oh, uh,” Jules mumbles, eyebrows furrowed together as a subconscious annoyance at the mention of the word “cute” breaks through the starstruck stupor Asmo has locked them into. They pull away from his grasp of their own accord and glare at him, a little giddily and then turn away in a huff, still blushing. 

Asmo’s lips stretch further, a mix between a friendly grin and a satisfied smirk, into a smile that squeezes his eyes into crescents and softens the sharp planes of his face into delicate dunes as laugh lines appear. There’s always a deliberation to his actions, but an air of carelessness too. If he’s scripted this, it doesn’t show because he’s a natural at it - being fully aware of grabbing attention, but at the same time, showing he doesn’t care at all. His fingers know exactly the kind of strings to yank on to make someone dance to his tune. 

“Now that you’re here...” Asmo begins, looping his arm through mine and pulling me flush against him, his grip warm and hot enough to burn through the material of my sleeve and sink into my skin. “The evening’s still fresh and I have some time before I’m due to return for dinner, so I’d like to do the honours of showing you two to some of the best places around town.” 

“What kind of places?” Jules eyes Asmo skeptically, as they unwrap a second lollipop and pop it into their mouth. 

Asmo follows this action, eyes attached to the lollipop that disappears behind Jules’ teeth, with interest. I interrupt his ideation by pinching him hard when Jules has turned around to discard the wrapper in a bin near the streetlamp. Asmo rubs against the abraded skin on his waist and pouts at me in disappointment but I firmly shake my head and mouth a “NO” at him. 

“It depends what kind of places you want to see,” Asmo says, his arm moving from mine to wrap around my waist tightly as he rubs his cheek against mine. It looks like a friendly gesture to any outsider but to me, it feels like a warning. Wherever I feel his embrace, my skin warms up and hot patches form with sweat pooling on my brow. Asmo, with a kind smile on his face, continues. “I know Solomon likes visiting the pawn shops a lot, or the flea markets for a good bargain when they pop up during the weekends.”

“I saw a thrift store down the street we just came,” Jules says, gesturing vaguely to the adjacent street. 

“We  _ just  _ visited that store though,” I point out, somehow managing to coherently piece through whatever Asmo’s doing. 

With his hand hooking through the rim of my jeans and the skin of his knuckles burning warm dents on my hips, he acts oblivious to the blood that’s come up to my neck, ears and nose in a more furious and violent blush than before. He looks pleased with himself, as usual. He’s a little weird and likes to mess with me, but he won’t do anything serious without first asking. Not that I’d say yes. 

“I know we did,” Jules responds, their face expressionless except for the twinkle that darts across their eyes for a second. “But the cashier gave me free candy, and she was hot. I want to go and actually buy something this time.”

“Oh, of course! Now that I see how it is!” Asmo agrees instantly, ripping himself away from me finally and placing a genuinely friendly hand on Jules’ shoulder as he guides them in the store’s direction. 

“Jeez,” Jules gravitates away from him the slightest, but they don't retaliate in any way. “Is that all it took to get you to stop fondling my friend in front of me in public?” There’s a playful grin on their face that’s mirrored on Asmo’s as he shows all his teeth, his sharpened incisors glinting dangerously in the light of the street lamps. 

“He was not  _ fondling  _ anyone!” I cut in with my weak attempt to save my last remaining shred of dignity. The two of them giggle in response, Asmo looking increasingly proud at the humoured reaction he draws out of Jules next by whatever he whispers into their ear.

This is kind of a tragic scene, if you’re in my shoes. Even my best friend has abandoned me to join a demon they’ve just met in embarrassing me in public. Asmo is very subtle in his advances, especially since they’re masked well with his friendliness and his simultaneous acknowledgement and disregard for the next person. But he’s not the Avatar of Lust for nothing. I put up with him for a year and barely managed to escape by the skin of my teeth by forming a pact with him last minute. 

“Don’t trouble Jules too much, okay?” I request, driving my elbow into Asmo’s gut in a manner that is a little less than forceful when we’ve finally established a comfortable distance and Jules is picking through the clothing racks. “It’s what’s best and safe for you.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The smile on his face isn’t as promising though. “It’s not like they’re actually affected by my charm. Faie are largely immune to it. Any response from Jules is because they’ve got human blood.” He leans in, smile changing its nature all of a sudden as his nose brushes mine and breath washes over on my face like warm water, its effect not quite leaving as much as it stains the skin of my cheeks.

He hooks a finger through my collar securely. “ _ You’re _ a completely different story though.” 

“Asmo,” I begin, my voice taking an edge with a tone of warning. 

Asmo pulls back immediately, putting a metre’s worth of distance between us, and laughs brightly. “Alright, I’ll stop.” He reaches over and pinches my nose, like a daycare worker would to placate a fussy child. “And don’t worry about Jules. I’ll make sure they’re  _ well taken care of  _ under our roof.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I am too.” 

The smile drops from Asmo’s face, and the worry lines become evident along with the dark eye circles that are surfacing through the diminishing concealer on his face. It’s clear that he’s been struggling with the conflicts just as bad as the faie have, and it’s worn him down. His face looks thin and unhealthy even though he’s tried to rectify that with makeup and his voice sounds heavier and deeper through a sore throat that he’d hidden well through raising his pitch to ride the voice cracks with grace.

“How are things on this end?” I ask, folding my arms on the rack and resting my chin on them to look up at Asmo. 

“They’re…” He trails off, the sentence hanging like a fishing line trying to pull the right words out of the water. “They could be better.” He absently thumbed through the hangers on the rack, but his hands were visibly trembling just the slightest. “It was the worst few months of my life. I couldn’t even take time to try the acid crystal face mask in the evenings before dinner! It was a disaster.” There’s clearly a more deep-seated worry he’s refusing to share with me, but he doesn’t have to say it. I already know.

“How about the rest?” I question gently. “Did they hold up fine?”

“It was stressful. But I think we’re all just glad the worst is over.” 

“I’m not just talking about that,” I reveal. 

“I know.” He releases a sigh. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Out of sight, out of mind, you know? It’s over and I’m just desperate to get over it.” I wish to point out that the traumas of war are something you don’t simply ‘get over’ through avoiding talking about them, but I bite down on my tongue. It’s up to Asmo to lead that conversation and I won’t be forcing him to talk about it against his wishes.

“Solomon. Come here for a minute.” 

Jules is peeking out from the ajar door of the fitting room and gestures me over urgently. When I get within grabbing distance, they take me by the arm and pull me into the fitting room, closing the door behind them as they do so. 

“WH - “ 

They press a finger to their lips and gesture to the door. 

_ I don’t trust him _ , They sign, a frown carving itself into their usually placid and expressionless features. _ I don’t think I can do this _ .

I return their frown with one of my own. _ Even if you can’t, you have to. You know the queen will charge you with treason if you withdraw now and jeopardise the plan of forming an actual friendship between the kingdoms. Diavolo is specifically paying for your living expenses as an act of goodwill. You’ll offend him if - _

_ I know _ . They shake their head, but under that worry, emerges a penetrating unprompted fear. This has nothing to do with the exchange anymore. The shielded gaze in their eyes and the nervous twitch in their pursed lips tells me that much. After years, I’ve finally learned to read Jules and I can tell that I’m clearly missing something.

Something happened during that private conversation they had with Merci. 

“Jules,” I say aloud and then sign the rest of the question.  _ What aren’t you telling me? _

Jules avoids my gaze, and takes a moment to collect themself.  _ It’s nothing _ , they sign and then push me out of the fitting room. The door shudders and judging from their feet under the gap between the door and the floor I can safely assume they’ve slammed their back against it. 

They stay there for a while, and then come out two minutes later. They don’t buy anything. They don’t even stop to acknowledge the hot cashier who watches, a disappointed frown on her face, as Jules shoulders past her without taking the receipt with her number on it.

* * *

  
  


**JULES**

I get attacked by a flying lawnmower the moment I step into the thresholds of the House of Lamentation. 

I duck at the last minute, and it sails over my head, crashing into the kerb and obliterating into a thousand different pieces with a sonic boom that matches that of an atomic bomb. I duck behind my suitcase as the pieces and parts of it are sent up in a shower and litter the ground. I peek over when I’m sure it’s safe to do so. I stay there, crouching and shivering involuntarily as the shock and fear take root in my muscles, causing them all to contract simultaneously.

Asmo dusts himself off, picking whatever stray shards of plastic, an odd screw and a couple of pieces of metal from his scarf and hair. He has a relatively calm expression on his face, and sighs in a way that indicates to me that this is nothing new. It completely negates the comforting smile he gives me as he helps me up from the ground and guides me through the front gates towards the porch. 

There’s someone standing on the porch, jacket tied over his shoulders by the sleeves and an old bed sheet wrapped around his waist. His sleeves are rolled up, with his sweater stained with dust and something else I don’t wish to speculate on. He’s standing with his hands on his hips, lips pursed in irritation but with an unbridled rage flashing through his stark green eyes that are looking right through me at the remains of the lawnmower on the kerb. 

“Satan!” Asmo sings, holding his arms out and bounding towards the boy, who expertly avoids being pulled into a hug and instead grabs Asmo by the collar. 

“Where  _ were  _ you?” He questions, shaking Asmo lightly, though I can tell by the veins pulsing across his tense forearms that it’s taking all his strength from not flinging his friend across the yard to the site of the lawnmower’s untimely end. “You were in charge of cleaning up the gallery! You didn’t show up so I had to clean it up for you before Lucifer ripped each one of us a new one!” 

“Thank you, dear brother!” Asmo reaches out for a hug again, his eyes turned up in happy little crescents. “You’re so hardworking and chivalrous, you ought to get a kiss!” Satan pushes Asmo out of reach, hand still on his collar. “Though, I have to point out,” Asmo continues, “It’s not very gentlemanly to throw a rusty lawnmower at our guest’s head.” 

Satan takes proper notice of me then. “Oh, sorry,” He says, though his words sound a bit too heated to give way to any sense of apologetic tone. “That wasn’t meant to happen. The lawnmower wasn’t working.” 

I look over at the poor machine that met its end right outside the yard and back at Satan. “Well,” I start slowly, “Is it working better now?” 

Satan’s eyes flash again and he looks like he’s going to grab me by the throat but at the last second, his expression melts and a smile finds residence on his face. I blink, trying to take in the sudden change from malice to kindness, but decide it’s better not to think about it right now. 

“Yeah, it’s working  _ much  _ better now, thanks,” He responds, his voice weighted with just as much sarcasm as mine. 

Inside the house, there’s a crash and a cacophony of screaming, that startles all three of us and Asmo finally can slide out of Satan’s grip. “I see the cleanup is going finely,” He notes and Satan heaves an impatient sigh. 

“Asmo, get the dustpan and the garbage bags,” He says, sliding his sleeves a bit higher and picking up the rusty shears that are lying at his feet. “I’m going to trim the lawn by hand.” 

“But - “ Asmo begins to protest. 

_ “Now!” _ Satan demands, cutting him off and punctuating his command with a deep and throaty sound I can decipher as a growl that makes goosebumps rise up and the hair on my neck stand up in alarm. 

Asmo turns to me, nervousness clear in the way he stumbles over his words. “You can find Lucifer inside. He’ll tell you what to do next. Make sure to join us and help out once you set your bags in your room!” He yells the last part out faintly as he joins Satan in the lawn trimming. 

A cleanup is long overdue for this place. There’s a layer of dust on everything even on the porch, greying the deep brown shade of the house’s ironwood body into a sickly shade. The lawn is overgrown and the grass comes up to Satan’s knees as he wades through the green ocean of leaf blades, shears clicking in his hands. Asmo’s whining is faint as he follows his brother to the end and they begin work. 

I roll my bag behind me, stepping over the clumps of broomed dust and enter the vast living room, which is even more of a mess than outside. 

The crash from earlier was from the chandelier, which is now on the floor, glass shards littered around its dented gold skeleton. Hanging from the high ceiling, seated comfortably in a harness with a dazed expression on his face and a feather duster in his hand, is another boy. 

“Belphie, are you okay?” A redhead calls down from below, his hand clutched tightly onto the rope attached to the harness that’s leaving the other boy suspended at just the right height to dust a chandelier.

“I’m fine, Beel! Don’t step on the glass!” Belphie calls down, groggily. 

That’s three men in total. Way too many. I’m dreading this already. 

“Uh,” I start, and their eyes find me. “Should I come another time that’s convenient for you guys?” 

“No, this is the most convenient time actually,” Belphie says, perking up all of a sudden. “Put your luggage down, grab the vacuum cleaner and glass cleaner and go help Mammon out in the observatory.” 

“Shouldn’t we show them to Lucifer first at least?” Beel questions, face twisting in worry and with hesitation. 

“Who gives a shit? We have an extra pair of hands now,” Belphie responds. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can leave for the Faie kingdom. Then, I don’t get to see the bastard’s face for… who knows how long.” He gestures wildly for me to get moving and seeing no other option, I tuck my bag into what I assume will be a safe corner in the living room and make my way further in. 

I pick my way through the glass and climb up the stairs. 

“Cleaning supplies are in the storeroom! Two rights and the small door at the end of the corridor!” Beel calls out to me. “The Observatory is on the opposite side. Last door.” 

Those vague instructions take me through three different corridors that look exactly the same save for the paintings on the wall and past another boy, who doesn’t pay me any attention as I hurtle past him. He’s humming along to whatever’s playing on his headphones, lips pursed in a somewhat disgruntled manner but other than that, he looks comfortable with scraping the chipping old faded paint off the wall to replace it with a new coat. 

Coming out of the storeroom is Lucifer himself. He’s got a handkerchief tied around his head and a stained apron over his clothes. He’s wrestling with a filled bucket and mop but pauses when he sees me.

I know him because everyone knows him. He’s sort of infamous for the rebellion he started millenia ago and his name is in the history books across every culture under a thousand different names depending on how the people of that culture perceived him. It’s kind of mind-bending realising those names now belong to completely different people. 

He bows courteously and offers an apology. “I’m sorry for the inconvenient circumstances the house is in right now. During our time on the war council, we had neglected our chores so it’s kind of a rush to clear them all now,” He says, when he’s standing tall. “You deserved a better welcome than that.” 

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” I say, though on the inside, I’m swearing up a storm. 

There are too many men in this house. If I have to lay my eyes on one more, I’m going to start crying. Lack of women makes me feel dizzy. 

“Beel and Belphie told me the cleaning supplies were here,” I say, looking pointedly over his shoulder at the door to the storeroom which is left ajar, revealing a little sliver of black from the dark room. 

Lucifer moves aside to let me pass, sensing cleverly that I do not want to have this conversation now. I eye him critically, not even bothering to hide it at this point, and then grab whatever I have to. With a bit of an effort, I push the vacuum cleaner in front of me with one hand, the glass cleaner in the other as I struggle to the observatory.

It pains me that I can’t even slow down to take in the architecture, which is archaic by my standards, though I can’t say the same for the other residents of this house who have lived enough years to have seen these kinds of houses to last another lifetime. 

The heels of my boots thud on the carpeted floor and click deafeningly loud as I make my way up the wooden stairs to the door of the observatory, hauling the vacuum cleaner after me. 

I can feel the drafts from the many corridors in the house surging through the hallways like blood pumping through veins, their winds whispering their secrets to one another. It only accentuates the size of this house, which is greater than I imagined compared to the first glance from the front yard. It seems to be even bigger on the inside. 

Its walls are covered in ancient fading paintings, the muses’ eyes seeming to follow me as I walk past. Neat Victorian-style flourishes are carved into the wood of the lower ceilings, with the coat of lacquer glinting in the yellow light of the lamps lighting the corridor.

I take one last look at the hallway, making a note to find time to explore the rest of the house later and shoulder the door of the observatory open. 

It’s vast and bathed in midnight blue hues, punctuated by little specks of thousand fluorescent colours of the stars and colourful stains of the galaxies. It’s glass dome roof is mounted on a silver skeleton, glinting like it’s speckled with stardust. Star charts are pinned on every inch of the wooden walls, some even rolled up and stashed in boxes that take up every available space on the shelves.

In the glass showcase, a mix of telescope lenses, tripods and a couple other gadgets I can’t recognise are cluttered, and the cupboards look close to bursting. There’s a glass panel on the dome that’s open with the head of the telescope resting on the pane, pointed up at the sky. I realise that the dome is made up of removable panels. Convenient. 

There are tables and chairs littered around the rooms and a comfortable sitting space comprising a couch and beanbags in the centre of the room. 

On one of the bean bags is  _ another  _ boy. He’s tapping away leisurely on his phone, his jeaned legs crossed at the ankles on the chair opposite him and his tinted glasses perched on his head. In the darkness, his white hair stands out starkly against the nighttime shades that have drowned the room in black and blue.

I suppress an overdue groan, as I pull the vacuum cleaner over to him. 

“Mammon,” I say, from memory, “Hi, I’m supposed to help y - “

“Oh, hey, you’re finally here!” He jumps up from the bean bag, his face glowing brightly even in the dim pallor of the room’s lighting. He walks over to me, setting his glasses on his nose and they wash down the marble blue colour of his eyes into an entirely different shade that closely resembles liquid iodine. 

Just like every tall person before, he places his hand on the top of my head in greeting. “You look like a reliable one, really!” 

“Uh,” I state, intelligently. I don’t know whether to thank him because usually when a man compliments you, he wants something from you. 

“Well,” He pats my head gently once, like I’m a little kid. His voice is warm, and charming, and clearly that of a swindler.

“I’m sure you’ve been briefed,” He continues, “I’ll be getting out of your way then so you can do your job without getting distracted. It’s an honour to be working for the great Mammon, you know!” 

He moves past me to the door. 

“Whoa, wait!” I cut in, sliding in between him and the exit. His nonchalance and irresponsibility are evident in the way he remains oblivious to my agitation and takes a pointed glance at his watch. Like  _ I’m  _ the one inconveniencing him. “They said to  _ help  _ you, not do all the work for you!” I tell him, jabbing a finger into his chest to drive home the point.

His eyebrows furrow. “That’s, like, the same thing.”

“It is not!” 

“It is!” 

Before I can continue, he speaks again, bending down to my height in a manner that is nothing short of patronising. “Listen, darling, I could stay here and argue with you all day but…” He taps the corner of his phone against his watch, an action that releases loud taps to fill in the conversational pause and prevent me from speaking. “I already have a previous engagement so if you want to continue arguing, book an appointment.” 

This leaves me startled and anchors my feet to the ground as he walks past me. I could easily take him. 

Faie have been demon-hunting for sport for  _ centuries _ . He talks big to intimidate me but he’s the one who should be afraid of me. I’m going to kick his -

But I  _ can’t _ . My whole point of being here is to initiate peaceful relations between our peoples. If I respond violently to his verbal provocation, I’ll be in trouble and charged for treason for going against Merci’s wishes. So I just take a deep breath and watch him leave.

“Time is money!” He calls over his shoulder, and with his hand, he makes the universal gesture for cash. “Don’t waste mine, and I think we’ll get along fine.” Then, he grins at me, winking audaciously and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

I’m seriously considering male genocide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I love exploring the boys' characters in minimal ways currently, I'll probably take that approach throughout the entire story until we're able to piece it all together.
> 
> \- Satan's introduction in this chapter was my favourite, you can tell I put in a lot to it. 
> 
> \- I'm taking every excuse to put Solomon in. There's nothing you can do to stop me.
> 
> \- Also I’m afraid the site glitched for me and now i cant get rid of this note from the previous chapter that still keeps showing up :| so ignore that i’ll figure it out
> 
> \- You know the drill... validation would be nice. Comment if u want to, I literally eat up and look at everything people have to say about my writing, criticism would be good too I use it to improve and helps me write better.


	3. Great Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited

**JULES**

I finish cleaning the observatory and lie in the bath for a really long time, nose just above the thick foamy layer of bubbles. Their alkaline sting lingers on my eyelashes, kept at bay by the thin layer of reflex tears that have gathered on my lower eyelid. The soap stings the various small cuts on my body, its invisible teeth nibbling at the open wounds. The bath salts, that Asmo so generously volunteered to add in, are forming a layer like cling wrap over my skin. 

My thoughts are running, like a locomotive on its tracks in a course down the side of the hill, slicing through the hillside gales like a knife and leaving behind a ripping sound. This ripping sound is the sharp jolt in my chest as my heartbeat picks up, its rhythm shifting from calm to erratic as my thoughts oscillate from hopeful to panicked. 

_ You’re the only person for this job. _

I’m thinking about the way Merci said that, with her breath reeking of aloe wine and lips stained with the plum juice as she leaned in, an inkling of mischief in her eyes as she stared into mine. She’d been listening in on the conversation between me and Solomon, clearly. The way she took his words of comfort and affirmation, and twisted them into a threat sent lightning down my spine. 

I sunk in lower, until I was completely submerged in the bathwater, the soap stinging my eyes even through my eyelids that were squeezed together. Her words were still lingering in my head, stuck there and drowning out everything else in that darned echo chamber. Her touch, from where she’d grabbed me on the wrists and leaned in to put her lips to my ear, still linger like patches on my skin. Little spots of heat and pain in memory. 

My body feels numb everywhere else, like a lump of clay that’s resigned to being moulded and kneaded relentlessly by Merci, and nobody else. The heaviness of servitude lays like an iron lump in my chest, anchoring me to the present where I’m forced to do nothing but look on and watch the inevitable approach like a sandstorm on the horizon. There’s a lot of weight to Merci’s orders, and an inkling of a threat in it too. 

But that’s not the biggest problem here. There is nothing worse than this job that Merci can do. Her smile, showcasing all her teeth sharpened to a point in a large predatory wicked grin, still lingers in my periphery. She knows exactly what she’s done, and she’s  _ enjoying  _ it.

I stay submerged in the water, my lungs starting to tingle with desperate heat as the seconds tick on. My nails dig into my shins where my hands are holding my legs into my chest in a futile attempt to disappear into myself. 

_ Blood-stained carpet. A bodily lump. An unrecognisable corpse. A dark shadow. A knife of polished bone _ . 

The image materialises in my brain under the murky waters, in which I’d attempted to drown every unpleasant memory and feeling, and breaks through the surface with the force of a whale, slamming back down into that ocean of buried memories, sending up a ripple throughout my psyche that manifests across my body in the form of a tremor. I enter this hazy headspace, where my brain refuses to process the memories that flash like a PowerPoint presentation clicking through at full speed.

It feels like I’m drowning, the sensation made worse by my decision to sink into the bathtub. 

I poke my head out of the water, somehow sweating with the effort of holding back a shriek as the images continue to fill my vision and drown out everything else in plain sight. 

I remember close to nothing of my life before that particular night. Every time I sift through my memories, this one stands there like a roadblock, a monster guarding the door to the minimal pleasant childhood I’d had before a murder changed the course of my entire life. Before I’d been sent hurtling over the rain-stained pavements of that dingy little town I called home and before the police had come for me. 

Before I’d been put in a juvenile home, charged with murder of my own mother. 

I met Solomon there, and that’s close to the only family I’ve had since then.

I clutch myself, curling up into fetal position, as my nails dig into my forearms, leaving little crescent indentations over my skin. My nails, having been bitten right down to their nail beds, don’t do any permanent damage. My cuticles are bleeding, and stinging as the soap of the bathwater takes effect. 

Guilt rises up in me, at the recollection that I have not told him the whole truth. His concerned look and the genuine worry tied to his voice still linger in my head, prompting me to at least give him a call to promise I’ll explain everything later. 

Upon the announcement of my departure, he’d immediately volunteered to come with me, making up something about wanting to take an internship with the mages in hopes of broadening his future prospects. Something like that. I know it’s just an excuse to come down to Devildom with me, and be just a stone’s throw away. 

We’ve done everything in tandem - from escaping that children’s home, to going to the faie queendom for the first time, and to now. Any and every significant moment in my life has Solomon tied to it, and I’m thankful to have had him.

Being on good terms with Solomon works in my favour. He’s sly and charming, which would have made him an incredibly untrustworthy acquaintance and an equally dangerous enemy. We’re both on similar moral grounds, and despite all our shortcomings and crimes, we’re still family. He’s as much of an outlaw as I am. 

Which is clearly why I should trust him with my secrets. 

But there’s some weight that everyone has to bear alone. This is mine. 

  
  
  


“I have to apologise for my brother.” 

Lucifer catches me off guard after dinner at the door of my room. His voice is deep and level as he speaks and he bows graciously after, which makes me take a few steps backwards and pause against the door to the other room. 

I know he’s talking about Mammon, about whom I’d completely forgotten until that moment, and it instantly lights the slightest fire in the pits of my stomach. Irritation nibbles ever so slightly on my resolve but with the exhaustion of the day setting in, I’m too tired to feel more than a tinge of annoyance. 

“Uh, no, it’s alright,” I say, though it isn’t alright at all. “I’m not really angry about it.”

The bastard ran off and left me to do  _ all  _ the work for him. If it hadn’t been for Satan and Asmo who stepped in to help after trimming the lawn, I would have been in there all night just sorting and organising the millions of star charts on my own. 

“Even so, it must have been a pretty unpleasant welcome,” He says, after rising to his full height. “Please, allow me to make it up to you somehow.”

At a little above five feet, my height falls in the range that ends just below his shoulder. With a body like his, corded with muscles across the broad expanse of his shoulders and down his arms, and the history that explains his residence in the underbelly of Hell, I am completely aware of how easily he could snap me in half. Any of these demons could. 

My survival here relies completely on how well the Faie and Devildom can pull off this cooperation. Anything goes wrong on either side, and I will die. 

There’s no easy way to put it. To get to Merci, they will go through me first. As her guard, it’s my job to keep them from doing so but at this distance, there’s nothing I can do for her and nothing she can do for me. 

“It’s fine,” I manage, hand clutching the door handle to the observatory. 

The longer I spend talking with him, the more unnerved I feel. He looks at me steadily, searching my face for any indication that suggests I truly feel contrary to what I’m saying and under his scrutiny, I feel the sweat that’s second away from breaking through my pores and pooling on my eyebrows. 

I’ve heard stories about him. About all of them, actually. It’s something that came with history classes, and seems I’ve absorbed all that information against my will. The haphazardly painted pictures depicting the war from that time that shook heaven, earth, and hell. When heaven discarded its seven children that hurtled through the air at a speed where the friction reduced them to nothing but comets singing through the sky that later crashed into the ground, they punctured the earth and sunk into hell.

Looking at it now, there’s been a little tinge of misery to the atmosphere of this house. I feel the remnants of something that was once beautiful but has disappeared into darkness and reduced to a murky shadow that lingers in all the corners of the house.

Lucifer being one of those remaining pieces.

I can see it in his regal features and poise that is characteristic of the residents of the Celestial Realm. The past feels like a blurry image that’s been superimposed on this reality and I can catch the littlest glimpses of it in his face. Nothing absolute - just fragments of a once-beautiful tapestry marred and torn by rebellion, and grief. Despite his cool exterior, there seems to be some undercurrent of struggle. 

“No, I insist,” He says.

I notice this faint flash in his eyes as a ghost of a glare stirs under his tranquil expression. It’s gone as quickly as it came, but I receive the message loud and clear despite him not having spoken it at all. Turning down his request will deliver a blow right into the bullseye of his pride, and that’s not something Lucifer will receive kindly. As this sinks in for me, I shrink in resignation and manage a tiny nod. 

“Alright,” I manage, somehow ensuring that even in this nerve-wracking conversation, my voice is clear and stable. 

“Diavolo has invited you for tea next week,” He informs me. “Just to meet you formally and ensure your stay in Devildom is going smoothly.” 

“Oh, well, thank you…” I manage. 

“I assume you’re already well-acquainted with Asmodeus, so I’ll leave him in your care and he should help you out with your classes and extra-curriculars when lessons begin officially next week. Should he give you any trouble, you’re more than welcome to approach me or any of my other brothers for help.” 

I repeat my thanks again, feeling weary already after having said the same word twice. 

“You’ll be on cooking duty with Beel,” He says, in a conclusive tone. “It takes an extra pair of hands with him to make sure he doesn’t eat everything before it’s served. Can I trust you with that?” 

“Of course…?” 

I’ve seen Beel. He’s a solid foot taller than me and built like a tank. If he wanted to, he could pick up my petite, slightly-chubby 5’2” self and toss me like a coin. How I’m supposed to regulate his kitchen habits while being half his size is beyond me but Lucifer doesn’t seem to be the type to take no for an answer so all that’s left for me to do is shoulder that responsibility and hope for the best. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t keep you,” Lucifer says, bowing once more. “Good night.” Then, he turns around and leaves before I can respond.

The hallway sinks into this deathly silence once he’s gone, the echo of his footsteps lingering a moment longer before fading. It’s the kind of silence you would expect inside a vacuum - endless, hungry, and swallowing every sound and its resonance. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting from the nightlife in Devildom, but this house is particularly gloomy, living up to its name as the House of Lamentation. In all its Victorian-style grandeur and flourish, there’s a certain sinister fog that clings to everything.

The details of the horror story behind the origin of its name come in bits and pieces to me, and do nothing to reassure me. There are already demons in this house, and the last thing I need is to worry about ghosts. 

In my room, with goosebumps on my skin, I dig out my bandoleer of knives and my twin blades, one carved out of moonstone and the other out of sunstone, sharpened and polished to a shine. I’m a paranoid idiot, and Solomon’s words are still ringing in my head. ( _ “The demons are as good as wild animals. They respond best to pain, and prey. You just have to make sure it’s in your favour when they do.” _ ) I’m thankful for whatever minimal training the Faie court gave me the entitlement to receive. 

It might just save my life down here. 

My first memory is of death. Before the living room, the bloodstained carpet and the corpse, my memories don’t exist. I assume that at some point, of course they did. Whatever they were, they must have been pleasant and kind, but waking up as a child to a dead body in your living room and being convicted for a murder you didn’t commit does something to your brain. 

Despite my best efforts to stay grounded, the paranoia has plagued me ever since and even in situations that don’t trigger it, it has lingered like a ghost always looking over my shoulder. I can’t remember living without it, and despite its overbearing and sometimes crippling presence in my life, I’ve grown to exist with it peacefully. 

I pinch the moonstone blade between my thumb and forefinger, running my fingers along it experimentally as I study my reflection in its body. A cold, dead pair of brown eyes stares back at me, unreadable as ever. Searching my face does not unearth anything else and it dawns on me that I am very much like a deserted house with boarded up windows. Chipping paint, a dry yellowed lawn and no way of knowing if there is any life left here or evidence that there even was.

I look miserable.

I sheath the blades, crawl under the sheets and then clutch them tightly. I can hear vague creaking noises and the ticking of the clock in the corner is deafening in the silence. I sink deeper into my covers and prepare myself for a really long first night in Hell.

* * *

  
  


**MAMMON**

The house is dark and empty when I return, slipping out of my shoes on the porch so that I don’t make too much noise when I tiptoe in. I inch the door open little by little, peaking in to make sure none of my brothers are waiting to ambush me for my latecoming. When I’ve confirmed the coast is clear, I enter the house, sliding the shoes into the cabinet and stumbling sleepily to the living room, where I finally sink into the couch. 

Tonight is a bust. Like every other night. Deeper holes have been carved into my pocket, despite the promising start I had in the beginning. The stacks of coins that decorated my side of the table had begun to quickly diminish as the evening had progressed until I was left with nothing except my fervour to gamble away money I didn’t even have and couldn’t promise to pay off. 

I am acutely aware of my expenditure, contrary to popular belief. I’m sensitive to monetary matters but that doesn’t necessarily warrant care. If anything, the rush is greater when I can feel it like I would my own limbs. Whether the gamble is in my favour or not, I will persist. If it’s the former, the exhilaration is paralleled only by what one feels when they have an entire kingdom in their palm. If it’s the latter, it’s the desperation a starving animal struggles with. 

Either way, I’m prone to bet and regardless of the outcome, I will always do more of it. Profits only encourage me to assert my power and losses only keep me going back in the foolish hopes of a recompense. It’s always the “I’ll win it back” echoing in my head that single handedly fuels my system to keep up the efforts. 

I curl my toes, wishing that I can at least feel any sort of guilt that will make me think twice about what I’m doing. 

But that’s out of the question. 

Our curse, placed upon banishment from the Celestial Realm, has worn down the inhibitions specific to our sins, which means we are free and prone to indulging them until it destroys us completely. It’s what makes a demon what they are. Any decent man would feel a tinge of guilt, but we don’t. We exercise control purely for self-preservation purposes. And for me… there’s not a lot of control that I exercise. 

I’m testing Fate - seeing how long it will take until my greed gets the best of me and I dissolve into ashes or go insane for good. A couple millenia ought to have done the trick yet I’m here, still very much in my senses. 

I push my glasses up, until I can see the world in its real colours and not through their orange tint. The House of Lamentation is as drab and foreboding as ever, more so in the dark. 

The centuries I’ve spent in this lightless place seem to have swallowed up all the memories I’d had of blue skies brushed with soft clouds on a good day, and the scars of lightning bolts across thunderclouds during storms. The piercing smell of nitrogen, the acidic tinge of nitrogen oxide, the roaring tailwinds under my wings - the memories are so vivid I can feel all the tastes, sounds and sights when I relive them.

It’s cruel - to remember life so vividly before this place and grow painfully further from attaining it ever again. Our eternity is this - left to rot, and remember everything before this life. There are things worse than death and this…  _ This  _ is worse than that, too.

I hear faint clicks, like soft heeled steps on the wooden floorboards of the level above me. A sound so faint, I’m sure to have imagined it. Everyone is asleep, by now. 

Unlike the other nights, where I’d find Beel in the kitchen even at this odd hour, the kitchen is empty. The first night without Belphie for a while must have killed the poor guy’s appetite, especially given the predicament we had all been in the last time Belphie had been let out of Beel’s sight. I swallow nervously, the memory leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, as I get up and decide that it is in my best interests to get to my room before I’m discovered. 

The nightlights glow dimly, their light mere stains on the walls as I feel my way through the dark corridor. 

Footsteps. Fast and light, echoing in the hallway. 

After living with my brothers for centuries, I’ve memorised the sound of their footsteps like one would have memorised the tune of a song that plays on repeat for days.

I swing around, feeling my canines lengthen into fangs involuntarily as my pulse skyrockets. The darkness melts ever so slightly but the hallway behind me is empty. I can still hear faint footsteps, from the adjacent corridor and then the smell hits me like a brick wall in the face.

Sweat, alarm pheromones, and something bitter and pungent like poison. Under all of that, there’s a faint sweet smell, that’s so butchered by the previous overwhelming scents that I can’t discern what exactly it is. 

Something slams into me sharply from behind, the impact concentrated right into the small of my back in a manner that sends jolts of pain running across my limbs and making my muscles seize up. I fall face first, and move to scramble away from the invisible force, barely escaping with my nose still on my face as a glowing blade sings through the air centimetres away from my throat. 

My attacker launches themselves at me again, driving one knee into my gut and the other into my forehead. The force makes my head snap back, and my vision shatters into doubles, triples, and even quadruples as the disorientation and shock stub out my senses, making the room around me turn in a dizzying manner. 

Their shin crosses my neck as they pin me down and poise the tip of their blade over my forehead. 

Then, it all makes sense. The sweet smell was that of human blood, and the overwhelming smell of poison of the faie blood. In between the sweat, alarm pheromones and mixed blood, and my senses on alert, it feels like I’m being bombarded with a thousand different sounds and sights at once. I can hear the blood pounding in their veins, the sound of their heart beating something akin to the sound of a train’s pistons pumping, and their sweat adding a salty tang to everything.

Their eyes are trained on me, a sheen of sweat over the earthen shades of their skin such that their skin glows like wet clay. In the darkness, their blade glows palely. With the slight and almost unnoticeable tremor to their stance, along with their general composure, I can feel the alarm turn to fear and then dull down to what I discern as irritation on their face as their expression twists into a frown. 

I buck under their weight, throwing them off and pushing myself up into a sitting position, nursing my throat. They slump against the wall, their weapons slipping out of their hands, as they groan. 

“ _ What _ do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down, lest I wake up any of my other brothers. “I could have - I  _ would  _ have killed you!” I fold my arms, feeling the irritation nibble at my composure as I stare at Jules, who meets my heated gaze with one of their own. 

“I could be asking you the same thing,” They respond, getting to their feet and picking up their knives. “Walking around at this time of the night.” 

“It’s  _ my  _ house. I do what I want.” I shrug. “If you don’t like it, then maybe you should just pick another place to live.” 

“I’m not in charge of living arrangements,” They respond, disgust lacing their voice. 

They gave me this look - the one I’m all too familiar with. There’s an equal mix of rage and disappointment in their eyes, the same kind there is in Lucifer’s whenever he looks at me. I don’t understand why, especially since I haven’t even known them long enough to give them a reason to expect something from me and then promptly disappoint them. 

Trust me, as someone who’s an expert in somehow intentionally or unintentionally disappointing everyone, if there was something recent that had happened, I would have remembered it. It must have been something trivial to me, if I’ve already forgotten it then. 

“You got a problem with me or something?” I question, deciding to tread into unknown waters. 

“No,” They reply through clenched teeth. Translation: yes. Yes, they definitely have a problem with me, but they’re waiting for me to recall what it is.

Something flashes in their eyes, and I hear them grit their teeth audibly. In the dark, their pupils still manage to glow this angry hot shade of blue as it does for the faie when they’re hunting at night. Their blue pupils are ringed by their brown eyes that glint a variant of amber in the darkness. Sweat starts to pool at the base of my neck and on my eyebrows as I somehow miraculously maintain my glare, the echo of “The division between faie and demons emerged when the faie undertook demon-hunting as a sport.” 

Their kind committed mass demon genocide all those millennia back, forcing the demon race to retreat to a hidden tenth level of Hell, under the protection of the other nine that became impenetrable to any creature that wasn’t of our species. 

Of course, the jurisdiction of the Celestial Realm saw no problem with it - it worked in their favour by forcing the demons to withdraw and retreat permanently to the Underworld, where they wouldn’t have to be constantly accounted for and charged under the Laws of the Higher Court. Less paperwork for them, I suppose.

It was only centuries ago, upon Lucifer’s banishment, that the Laws were changed and an agreement was reached. Only Diavolo’s Royal Court and the Banished are given (limited) access to the human world and even then, the entrances and exits are guarded by wards set up by Lucifer so no one gets past them without his permission and Diavolo’s approval. 

A load of pretentious bullshit, in my opinion. 

Jules is small - a little above five feet, chubby and little muscled in equal proportions with a distinctive hungry sort of anger lighting up their face. I could pick them up and throw them, if they would make it that easy for them but they move purposefully and calmly like a large cat advancing on its prey, concealed in the shadows of tall grass, as they move towards me. Despite the comical manner in which they have to crane their neck to comfortably maintain eye contact with me, there is nothing short of tenacious in their movements.

I feel like ice has grown between my joints, locking my body in its place as I watch them, suppressing my helplessness, as they swing the knife up until it rests in the crook of my shoulder, its sharp edge skimming gently over my skin like a cold deadly metallic kiss. 

“Do you always treat your guests this awfully or is it just because I’m impaired growth-wise?” They ask me, their voice carrying only a tinge of malice and in larger parts, curiosity and disappointment. 

Their own admittance seems to shrink them down until their presence feels smaller. It’s such an odd contrast to their demeanour just seconds before, it throws me off and surprisingly, pulls a laugh out of me. It breaks out of my chest of its own will, and startles Jules just as much as it startles me. 

“You’re not anything special,” I tell them, placing my hand on their head and pushing it down gently. “I’d have treated anyone the same way I treat you. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I nudge them out of the way before they can say anything. “Now, stop bothering me and go to bed.” 

“There’s a problem,” They interrupt, stopping me in my tracks. “I…” They tap their heels, avoiding meeting my eyes as they speak. “I don’t know the way back to my room.” 

_ You’re. Fucking. Kidding. Me. _

* * *

  
  


I come down to breakfast just in the nick of time to watch Beel inhale my share of the food. The others have already finished and have their own itineraries to attend to. Satan is spread out on the sofa and reading in the living room, Levi is nowhere in anyone’s line of sight, and I can hear Asmo is talking animatedly on his phone. It’s just Lucifer, unfortunately, who’s waiting for me at the table, a scowl on his face.

“Good morning, big bro,” I greet him, sliding into my designated seat at the table and wiping whatever remaining crumbs are left on my plate with my fingers. I’ve just began to lick them clean when he talks. 

“You were late again last night, weren’t you?” He questions. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, picking up the remaining miniature salted eggs and popping them in my mouth one after the other. A few chairs down Beel looks close to munching on his plate.

“Mammon!” He reprimands. “This wouldn’t even be an issue if it didn’t have to be the rest of us constantly having to account for you and your spending! I don’t care how much you gamble if you would just take responsibility for it.” He’s folded his arms on the table, his glare fixed on me as I avoid looking at him and focus my attention on my plate. 

“Responsibility…” I sound it out, slowly and intentionally. “Never heard of it.”

“ _ Clearly _ .” Lucifer sighs. “I’ve heard you’ve been giving our guest some trouble.” 

I pause. “What kind of trouble?” 

Whether or not Jules snitched on me, it doesn’t matter. Lucifer would have figured it out anyway. 

“The kind you always get into for shirking your responsibilities,” He says. “It wasn’t very kind of you to let Jules handle your chores and theirs, especially since it was their first day here.” 

I sweep the eclair off the plate just as Beel reaches for it, and an expression that resembles that of a kicked puppy’s takes over his face as he watches me chomp on my dessert. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” I tell Lucifer. “Seems to me that Jules managed fine. In fact, they managed better than they would have if I had been there.” 

“That’s because Satan and Asmo helped them out.” 

“Well, it looks like everything worked out, even without me.” 

“That’s not the issue here. I expected better from you.” 

This is surprising, and it makes me falter. When I finally meet his eyes with my own, I can see a sheen of disappointment coating Lucifer’s expression underneath the obvious indignation that’s present on his face. It makes my bones grow cold underneath my warm flesh, their chill searing through my muscles and freezing my motions. My heart genuinely feels crushed, again, as the realisation sets in against my futile attempts to lock it away. 

No matter how many times I’ve let down my brothers, Lucifer still has expectations of me. I’m certain none of my younger siblings care anymore - they’ve grown accustomed to my screw-ups and constantly making jabs at me has now been deemed a socially acceptable hobby and personality trait in the household. Even with Lucifer always joining in and chiding me, and sometimes even condoning the others’ misbehaviour, it still throws me off when I realise he still firmly believes I’m above my vices -  _ that I can do better _ .

Somehow, this is worse. I hoped they would all give up on me, leave me to decay with my own greed until I can be buried and they won’t have any reason to mourn me. But knowing Lucifer still doesn’t think any less of me despite the number of times I’ve ruined things for the family is something really heart-crushing. 

I’m undeserving of his faith in me.

My appetite dead, I push back from the table and get up to leave. “No expectations, no disappointments,” I tell him, turning around and leaving the dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- it's been nearly a month since the last chapter i'm so sorry. i had a lot goin on that i had to take care of but now that i've dealt with it i've started writing again  
> \- you know the drill: kudos are appreciated, comments are welcome but neither is mandatory. give the kind of support / criticism you think my writing is worth i'll be grateful either way.  
> \- it's been a while since i seriously wrote and talked to my readers and i've missed it


End file.
